The Rehab Diaries Redux – Week 3

I’m home now so this will be an account of my final week in hospital.

My regular doctor came back and was not impressed with the medication change imposed by the other one. She removed the diazepam and changed the fluoxetine to 15 mg instead of 20.  This means I need to split the tablet into quarters as it only comes in 20s, which I have been trying to do on my own with not much success.  I need to find one of those pill cutter things.

I feel like my mood resolved a bit but my activity hit a low. All I did from when I got up at 3am (yes that’s still happening) to dinner time is watch Dragonball Z.  Anyone familiar with Dragonball Z knows there’s enough of it to sustain my inactivity marathon for weeks.  I find myself getting frustrated with it though – it’s so drawn out.  I can watch the same fight go on for about ten episodes and still not have closure.

Maybe next admission I’ll get into Bleach, ha. You won’t see me for months.

The dietician I’ve been seeing outpatient also works for this hospital so I had an appointment with him this week to get a free one in. He tried to encourage me to exercise – I’ve still been playing sport but in hospital they have a gym which I could be using but I’m not.  Would rather be watching Dragonball Z.

We also talked about something that has been concerning me, maintaining a healthy diet when I move in with my boyfriend. Our eating habits go to shit when we’re together – we hardly ever cook, we snack together watching tv and tend to influence each other’s drinking habits.  The solution, we agreed was to start cooking more.  He promised to bring me some print outs of healthy recipes for our next session.

I only went to two group therapy sessions this week. One was a dietician’s group in which I encountered more judgement from other patients but this time I wasn’t keeping quiet.  It happened during this exchange, where this girl who was about my age asked the dietician if walking was good exercise to lose weight:

Dietician: Well, all physical activity is good, but to lose weight you need to do something that gets your heart rate up.

Girl: Well I can’t go to the gym, they’re too intimidating. And who plays team sports at my age?

Me: Excuse me, I do.

*cue crickets*

Dietician: Yeah and Mac plays a very interesting team sport, don’t you Mac?

I told her what it was (a contact sport) and still she had nothing to say. The other patients took over with the usual comments I get for disclosing that I play that sport “wow you must be so tough!” etc.  But I didn’t hear from that girl for the rest of the group.

The other group I went to was another addictions group. I was hoping that the people who were in it the week before would be there so I could tell them what a bunch of dickheads they were but didn’t go.  Instead it seemed to be a bunch of patients who were just there for something to do.  I got sick of them asking too many self serving, irrelevant questions and walked out.

Well I’ve been willing to give my therapist a chance even though we have bad chemistry but in our final session of the admission she convinced me that I never want to work with her again. The session lasted 15 minutes and she spent it telling me how difficult I have been to work with and that I should seriously reconsider trying to get a job in admin because I’m too socially inept for it.  I challenged her to give me an example of a job that didn’t have face to face contact and she couldn’t.  I don’t know what she expects me to do, just sit at home watching Dragonball Z all day for the rest of my life?

I understand that, as someone on the spectrum, my personal presentation can sometimes leave a bit to be desired. But I would have thought that a psychology professional would have the knowledge to be accommodating of that.  I’ve worked with many therapists over my several admissions at that hospital and we’ve made great progress despite my being ‘difficult.’  Unfortunately she pulled this one after my last session with my doctor so I won’t be able to complain about it for a long time.

My discharge went smoothly. They gave me my papers over breakfast and I had them signed and handed back immediately.  The hard part is waiting around for my medication and scripts, which can take hours, but only took half an hour that day.  Then my boyfriend took me home and I arrived ready to face life sober.

Until I get admitted again (so ages away hopefully)

 

Mac

The Rehab Diaries Redux – Week 2

We’ve reached the end of week two. The original plan was for me to go home after two weeks but considering I’m still fantasising about nailing myself with vodka as soon as I go home I decided to stay on for another week at least.

I have still been feeling low and unmotivated. I am supposed to be looking for work but I haven’t been motivated to do that.  I have a recruitment company looking for work for me and they got me a job interview that I had to go on leave for.  Obviously if I got the job I would have to discharge myself, but I didn’t.  They couldn’t give me any feedback except to say that I interviewed well but they needed to cull some applicants.  The whole thing sapped my mood even more.

The AWS assessments seem to have stopped. I was told at the beginning that I would be breathalysed after going on leave but that hasn’t happened yet.  I haven’t got any of the withdrawal symptoms mentioned in the assessment but I’m told feeling low can be one.

My regular doctor went away and I have been seeing the same one I saw when she went away during my last admission. Previously I’ve been frustrated with him because he has a conservative approach to treatment and is hesitant to make any changes but this time he put my antidepressant up when I told him I’d been feeling low and prescribe 2mg of diazepam to combat any agitation that might cause.

He also pointed out that this is a regular private mental health facility; there is no alcohol specific programs. We discussed whether my aim is to cut down or stop completely and I said I wanted to cut down if I could; I wasn’t ready to cut it out.  He said that most alcohol programs are abstinence focussed, and I need to look at controlled drinking programs.

I continue to fight with myself to eat properly. The food is heavy and often unappetising and so far I have gained 2kg in here despite sometimes only eating a bread roll for dinner.  The 5pm dinner time is still throwing me off.  I’m lucky that my boyfriend is here most nights to take me out for dinner.  Come to think of it, that could be responsible for the weight gain.

Sleeping has been surprisingly easy; I usually take two hours to fall asleep after taking my night meds but here I have been falling asleep after only one, despite having a room across from the dining room where most of the patients hang out at night and make the most noise. Only problem is, I have been waking up early.  Like, really early.  I wait until 6 to eat then take my meds with food, as advised, and fall asleep at 7.  When I do this at home I will wake up at 5 or 6am but here I have been waking up at 3am.  All I can do is get out my headphones and watch the tv shows my bf downloaded onto the computer for me.

I have been making myself go to group therapy to fill in time because left to my own devices I would just watch my shows all day.  Trouble is I have heard most of them before and end up sitting there bored out of my mind and getting annoyed with the other patients oversharing or interrupting with their ‘hilarious’ comments.

There was an addiction specific group and I thought I’d go along to that, but I left feeling more annoyed than ever. The other group members were very judgemental – one guy was a former smoker and said that all smokers are losers.  That’s right.  He came to an addiction group and called people with addictions losers.  Are.  You.  Fucking.  Kidding.  Me.  I wish I had said something but I was to appalled at the time.

Another girl who was there because she was worried she had an addictive personality but no actual addictions (I wanted to shake her and tell her to get a grip) said that she didn’t want to associate with her friends because they drink and do drugs and she thinks they will ruin her reputation. Well how am I, a problem drinker, supposed to feel comfortable sharing after that?

I went over the session with my inpatient therapist who happened to be the same therapist running the group. She helped me realised that the underlying emotion to that annoyance was shame, and the comments from the other patients triggered that and made me shut down.

I’m still not sure about my connection with this therapist who I have never seen before this admission but apparently she is good for tackling addictive behaviours. I have had three sessions with her so far and I feel that I am opening up more but I still don’t have the same chemistry with her that I have had with others.

I will be seeing my regular doctor again next week and if all goes to plan I will be writing week three’s edition from home.

 

Mac

The Rehab Diaries Redux – Week 1

So I’ve been here a week and not much has happened. As I posted earlier we got off to a shit start when the admitting CMO fucked up my medication chart and it took an emergency phone call to my doctor to get me my regular meds.  She had to come in to the hospital the following day to change my chart to what it was supposed to be.  Next time I get admitted I will bring a list detailing exactly what I take morning and night in what strengths.

The changes to my chart must have rattled the staff too because for the next three days I was getting the wrong meds and sending them back. The other thing the CMO did to piss me off was to chart a new pill without telling me – a thiamine supplement.  This is apparently given to alcoholics to reduce the chance of brain damage leading to things like Korsakoff’s psychosis.  Not that I’m not happy to take it, I just don’t think it’s unreasonable to want to be informed of changes to my medication routine.

The staff have been doing the alcohol withdrawal quizzes with me but so far I haven’t experienced any of those insidious withdrawal symptoms. I was drinking a lot – think blacking out regularly a lot – but I guess I haven’t been doing it for long enough.

I was getting cravings though, and for very specific things. Like one morning at 6 am I was craving a long island iced tea of all things.  I’m not sure if I would have succumbed to that craving at home given the time of day, but that’s a dangerous thing to want.  I’m embarrassed to say that on my benders I would make myself two of those and go from there.

The other thing I want is vodka. I was getting that craving watching cartoons in the evening, when I would normally be drinking.  It was so strong I could half taste it.  I told my doctor about these cravings and she put me on naltrexone.  It’s a drug that won’t make me sick it I actually drink so it’s good for cutting down rather than cutting out.  She was worried it would make me sick but so far I’ve had no side effects, and no more cravings.

Even though the cravings are gone I still miss drinking. I told my doctor that I still have the attitude of “if I wasn’t here I could be drinking” and she told me that probably means I need to stay here for a few more weeks.  I’m not sure I can last here that long but we’ll see how we go.

I’m struggling a bit because of boredom. At home I was bored too because I’m unemployed at the moment but I have more limits on me here.  At home when boredom was getting to me I could get in my car and go to the shops or the beach.  Here I’m stuck unless someone takes me out.  My BF has tried to help by bringing a hard drive full of my favourite tv shows but you can only watch so much tv in a day.

I think the main reason I’m struggling is that I’m not really unwell. My mood is a little low, maybe from coming off alcohol, maybe from boredom but I’m not feeling distressed all the time like I have been on my previous admissions.  On all of them I have been starting new medication regimes and most of my time was spent sleeping off the side effects.  Now the only two new drugs I have don’t seem to have any side effects and I’m wide awake all day.

As per usual there are several group therapy programs a day going on here and I have been going to a few to fill in time but they’re a bit different to last time I was here; they are more discussion based and less skill based. I find them socially exhausting and I get uncomfortable when other patients overshare.

I’m trying to get used to the meal times here, particularly dinner which is at 5pm when I’ve barely digested my lunch. The food is very heavy so I try to go on leave for meals where I can.  My meds need to be taken soon after food; normally they give the night meds out at 8pm but I’ve been asking for mine at 6pm.  That means I go to bed at 8pm, which I don’t mind, but I’ve been waking up at 3 am when I would normally wake up at 6am at home when taking meds at the same time.

Not sure if it was my anxiety or my mania but I was a cantankerous bitch last time and literally everyone in the hospital annoyed me. Now that I’m not really unwell – except for the drinking thing – I find I’m more tolerant of the other patients.  There are a few that grate on me – like the one who’s singing loudly underneath my window right now – but not enough to waste my time thinking about.

My doctor has gone on leave starting yesterday so have to see a different one for the next ten days – although truthfully I don’t think I’ll last that long – the same one as I saw on my last admission when she went away. I’m apprehensive about what he will make of this new issue of mine as I found his approach a bit conservative last time.

And so I’ve made it one week without climbing the walls. I’ll be back next week detailing my experiences with this new doctor and group therapy.

 

Mac

The Rehab Diaries Redux – Admission

So, I’m in hospital again.

What went wrong?

Well, I was actually doing really well but then I was faced with some major life changes and instead of dealing with it in a healthy way like say, hashing it out on this blog, I started to drink.

Alcohol has never been a problem for me. I used to joke that I had a relationship with alcohol that I wish I had with food – it could sit in my fridge for weeks or months waiting for a special occasion.  But no more.

I’ve only been drinking heavily for a couple of months but it’s taken its toll on my health and I’ve had a couple of incidents that gave me pause for thought. One day I passed out in the toilet and bit a chunk of flesh off the inside of my lip, then the next day I nailed myself while my boyfriend was over and passed out.  He had to hunt for my key to let himself out of my place.

I woke up the next morning covered in vomit.  Have you ever woken up covered in vomit?  It’s a low moment.  As scrubbed the remnants of last nights spaghetti out of the carpet, trying not to hurl again from the combined scent of vomit and omo, I realised that I needed intervention.  I could still keep going.

It just so happened that I had an appointment with my psychiatrist that day. As soon as I sat down I told her “I think I need to go to hospital…” and explained what had been going on.  She cancelled my ritalin because apparently it promotes addictive behaviours and agreed to write the referral.

The referral process took the longest this time than it ever has before, including times when my referral hasn’t actually gone through and I’ve needed to get another one. It was two weeks between getting the referral and getting the call to come in to hospital when before it’s been an average of one.  It may have something to do with the time of year; for some reason I usually go to hospital in the summer.  To be there in June is a first for me.

I was admitted yesterday and there are a few changes to my care plan because I’ve never been here for a drinking problem before. I have to do an AWS questionnaire every six hours – I think that stands for alcohol withdrawal symptoms – which scores you according to what withdrawal symptoms you are experiencing such as anxiety, tremors, agitation etc.  If you score highly they’ll give you valium.  So far I’ve done it twice and scored zero but I’m told it sets in after three or four days.  Also one of the rules of admission is no alcohol and as a problem drinker I will be subjected to random breathalysing.

I saw my inpatient psychiatrist and she said she wouldn’t change up my meds as yet. She asked me if I was looking to reduce my alcohol intake or stop it altogether.  If I wanted to stop she would put me on antabuse, that drug that makes you violently ill if you have any alcohol.  I said realistically I was looking to cut down.  She said she would wait to see if I started craving alcohol and if I did, she would prescribe me naltrexone.

I saw the ward CMO who went through my medication and ordered the standard blood work. I thought everything was fine until I went to get my medication that night.  They tried to give me half of what I normally take.

The problem was, I take 160mg of zeldox, 400mg of lamictal and 50 mg of Topamax in a day. That’s how doctors read it out when they’re talking about my meds and that’s how she read it out to me so I agreed with her.  It actually is 200mg of lamictal and 25mg of Topamax in the morning and 200mg of lamictal, 25mg of Topamax and 160mg of zeldox at night.  She wrote down 50mg of Topamax, 80mg of zeldox and 200mg of lamictal in the morning and 200mg of lamictal and 80mg of zeldox at night.  When they called her to get her to fix it she wouldn’t change it.

I was livid. These aren’t freaking skittles I’m taking, these are strong drugs with many systemic effects.  Without the right amount of zeldox I don’t sleep.  The staff saw how worked up I was and broke protocol to call my psychiatrist at home and have her change it.  I took the right meds last night but it isn’t fixed properly, my chart is still wrong.  I have to see another doctor today to sort it out.

I don’t know how this admission is going to go because I’m not nearly as unwell as I was during my last one, apart from the problematic drinking. I’m expecting to be here for about two weeks, I don’t expect it will become as long as my last stay (because I was climbing the walls by the time I left.)

I will be doing a rehab diaries though so stay tuned.

Mac

The Rehab Diaries Week 5 – Hitting the Wall

I’ve hit the wall, and hit it hard.  To think it only took me four weeks.

My anxiety is spotty.  It’s kind of on and off but when it’s on it’s intense.  I’ve had days where I spent hours just pacing and ruminating.  Leaving the hospital is still making me feel sick.  Le boyf is making me go out, and is getting concerned over how I’m somehow not getting less shaky every time we do go out.

It seems to be spiking at night.  At night, anxiety is just on.  I guess it’s because it’s the time of day when the zeldox levels in my system are at a low but I just run in circles around my room, so dizzy and shaky, trying to wear myself out.

I have an agitating factor at night time; there’s a very real issue that can prevent me from sleeping.  My neighbour’s.  Fucking.  Snoring.  It has to be heard to be believed.  And it can be heard through the wall with the door shut.  They gave me ear plugs which do work, but they’re uncomfortable and I don’t like wearing them.

The rational part of my brain tells me that I shouldn’t be expecting to not be a competent, non agoraphobe in just a few short weeks.  The depressed all of my brain asks when I will ever not be an incompetent agoraphobe.  Suicidal ideation is back.  I just can’t do this for another fifty-odd years.

I had to make the decision of whether to return to my regular inpatient psychiatrist who was returning to work this week.  This was more complicated than it sounds.  On one hand, I’ve seen the regular doctor for five years, we work well together and it’s important to keep her in the loop.  On the other hand, I’ve come to realise that these two have very different philosophies.  While I was frustrated at my current doctor to begin with, I came to realise that his comparatively conservative approach isn’t always a bad thing – bringing up my drugs slowly allowed me to tolerate them much better, and adding them to my chart as PRN rather than standard gave me greater control over when I increased the dose.

The deciding factor was whether I would have to change therapists.  Each doctor has a different psychologist working under them, and I was concerned that if I went back to my old doctor I’d have to change my therapist as well.  I just wasn’t prepared to change both at this late stage.  When I asked him though he promised that he’d fix it so I could see my regular doctor and his therapist.  So it was settled.  I’d leave his care and move to hers.

I was worried about this appointment, not because I’m scared of her – as the staff kept teasing me – but having explain my entire case summary to a new person is exhausting.  Plus with her less conservative approach to medication I was afraid that she’d effectively blow up this current regime and put me straight on a different cocktail which would make me violently ill, and keep me in hospital for several more weeks.

Despite my fears she did no such thing, but explained to me that she would normally be treating anxiety with a certain type of anti depressant.  Which as we know, for bipolar patients, is problematic.

She contemplated prescribing lovan, which is apparently a safer class of the drug but I know I’ve been on that before, I just can’t remember when or for how long.  If it was for a long time, that would indicate it was working.  She promised to dig through my files to see if it was in the last five years, I promised to check with my parents because I suspect it was long before that.

She also made the morning zeldox a permanent addition to my medication chart, so I don’t have to explain to the nurses every single morning why I need PRN just after I’ve woken up.  Taking it in the morning is definitely getting easier but I’m still struggling some days where I end up doing sweet FA all day really.  I have what my dad would call ‘bed days’ when he talks about his nursing home patients, where I just lie around and watch tv.   Of course dad would say that bed days are reasonable in elderly folk on their last legs who have slowed right down, not a young person like me.

Another addition to my anxiety is the demographic shift in the hospital’s residents that has happened suddenly this week.  I’ve noticed over my admissions that the hospital does go through stages of being either mostly young or mostly older folks over periods of several weeks. And there never seems to be a whole lot of inbetweeners like myself.  Maybe because they tend to assign themselves to one of the groups and manage to blend in but I’m not interested in either.  Although there are a few who, like me, do keep to themselves.

Anyway up until now, including over the holiday lockdown period, it’s been a decidedly old timers scene.  But this week has seen an influx of youngsters and whenever this happens the hospital turns into a giant sleepover party.  Shrill laughing, gossip, cliques, running in and out of each other’s rooms.

That last part I find particularly anxirty inducing.  I know that seems irrational but truth be told I would never go into another patient’s space.  And I would not tolerate them coming into mine.  In fact it’s against the rules to have another patient in your room.  Even if it wasn’t I would be enforcing that as a personal boundary.

The nurses don’t appear all that concerned; certain rules aren’t strongly enforced when nothing is being hurt except maybe the sensibility of personal boundaries.  One good thing about the youngsters is that they all want to hang out the smokers area so at certain times of the day the hospital completely clears out when they want their nicotine fix.  I do appreciate the quiet.

Something that has made a huge impression on me in my personal therapy journey is the importance of appropriate personal boundaries.  Generally – there are some exceptions of course – the older crew are totally on board with this idea, as many have been in therapy for years but watching the current lot is good for meditating on that concept.

I’m not saying that all young people suck at boundaries but, as I said seeing certain ones running into wach others rooms and jumping on their beds makes me wonder.  I could do I could do a whole other blog post on the topic but the gyst of it is, we are told that while socialising in here is fine, we are discouraged from maintaining friendships once we get discharged.  And after being admitted with certain people a number of times you often come to understand that despite presenting well freinship with them can be exhausting.  I include myself in that description, I suck at maintaining friendships.

Some food for thought might not be a bad thing, hey?  Anything to distract me from the anxiety.

Mac

The Rehab Diaries Week 4 – Holiday Time is Over

 

2015-02-19 16.47.53

 

Finally, I got to see the new doctor.  He was a pleasant character and after a few leading questions I found myself pretty much telling him my life story, including how I had applied for medical school this year, and missed the UMAT cut off for my school of choice my just a couple of points.

He was supportive, saying that he had several patients who had gone on to careers in medicine, and some much older than me.  He tried to decipher my doctor’s notes – apparently he has typical doctor’s handwriting – and it appears that he eventually intends to supervise me onto 100mg of Zeldox, which would indicate 2-3 more weeks of rehab.  He told me that he would be putting it up to 60mg this week.

When mum picked me up for leave that afternoon I passed on that information and her reaction was one of despair.  How could I be there for a month?  Don’t my doctors understand the havoc I am wreaking on my family yet again? Thanks mum, real helpful…  (Actually I’ve been there for five weeks before but I think this admission will top that.)

If last week was the week of agitation, this week is the week of anxiety.  I’m still experiencing racing thoughts, racing through everything I could possibly be anxious about.  Just leaving the hospital makes me feel so ill.  BF and I were going to the beach last week but that’s out of the question now.

For some reason thinking about moving home is triggering me badly.  It’s just the whole moving process being such a pain in the butt, I just want it over with.  We’ve been going to my place to get bits and pieces and that’s so hard.  For some reason being in my suburb is giving me anxiety over the fact that it’s a super rough area.  Which it is, but I’ve lived there for two years and never been broken into or had any such trouble from the residents.  The drama stayed out of our house and on the street but still I can’t help agonising.  It sucks.

I’ve been catastrophizing something dreadful.  My mind latches onto a dreadful idea, and I can’t relax until I’ve been able to confirm it.  For example, while I was on leave one morning I became convinced that someone had gone into my room and stolen my contraceptive pill.  Which is ridiculous, right?  That’s a horrible thing to do and I haven’t even talked to the other patients enough to infuriate someone to the point where they would do that.  But I couldn’t let it go.  I ended up calling the nurses’ station and making one of the nurses check that it was in my drawer.  Which it was.

I’ve had many ‘ideas’ like this.  When I have them I make sure to tell the staff so that my irrational thinking is going on record because this needs to stop.  Of course the fact that I’m aware that these thoughts are irrational bodes well for me but it’s still eating me alive.

And then to add a poisonous olive on the side of this paranoia laced anxiety cocktail, I woke up one morning and the double doors between ward one and two had been thrown open.

Holiday time is over.

“Oh yes, we’re back to normal functioning this week.  Prepare for fifty thousand admissions.”  My nurse confirmed cheerfully as she brought my morning tablets.

I later found out that this number is actually closer to seven.  Admissions generally happen two days of the week, so they were able to stagger the patients coming in.

The advantage of course is that all the staff are running at full capacity, including the therapists.  Group therapy is back.  I gave groups another chance, and the first one I went to left me feeling positive – the therapist allowed us to check in, so the self pitying ramblers were not allowed to talk over anyone or hog the air time.

I’m certainly not above talking too much, and it’s something I’m very self conscious about; I’ve noticed in group therapy that those who talk the most tend to apply the skills the least and I can’t possibly be the only one.  I always cringe and swear I’m going to pass ever time they start going around the circle to check in but let loose when it’s my turn.  Those damn therapists sure know how to ask leading questions.

I was also eagerly awaiting the return of my therapist this week to finally start unpacking all this anxiety but my excitement was premature.  I saw her once before she had to go on leave for a week for surgery.  LAIM.  Am I going to get any kind of decent interpersonal therapy before I get discharged?

We’ll find out next week I guess.

Mac

 

The Rehab Diaries Week 3 – Oh so quiet, just not in my head.

 

 

justmymind

 

My brain is resisting sleep.  Getting out of bed is hard but getting in is harder.  My anxiety is so restless even though I’m on more than ever before.

I was bouncing off the walls.  A good proportion of my dad was spent pacing back and forth.  I was hiding in my room to avoid human contact.  Even though the ward was closed and there were hardly any patients in, as we know I still found everything and anything to be irrationally enraged at.

My trichillomania had been triggered as it often is in times like this but bizarrely instead of pulling out my own hair, it has been transferred onto my boyfriend.

“Can you talk to the doctor about this?”  He asked jokingly, pointing to his scabbed up face.  I cringed.  Once he put it out there it seemed to be no joke at all.  Popping his zits is something I do a lot – be honest ladies, you know you do this – but my attacks on his face had gotten harsher.  Patches of hair from his beard were missing too, as I kept saying I “just want to get rid of the weird hairs.” I had to keep checking for grey hairs, or split hairs, or hairs thicker or thinner than the others.  And if I found one, it had to go.

BF had been saying that he wanted to meet the doctor to get a better understanding of my illness.  I asked the doctor if him sitting in for a bit was ok, which he agreed to but once the door closed, stage fright struck.  We asked BF if he had any questions and he kept saying he didn’t know.  After a few minutes of this I grew impatient and threw him out.

The doctor was sympathetic to my claims of elevated mood from the previous week, even though it was maddeningly settled that day so he couldn’t observe it in consultation.  He admitted that the increased melatonin may have overshot the mark and scaled it back to 25, increasing my zeldox by another 20 at night because previously when I had been taking 20 morning and night I always needed a nap at midday.

My med woes were not over however, as later that night a nurse came running into my room absolutely beside herself.  “It’s no good, Mac.  We’ve messed up your cycle.  You need to start used protection because if you get pregnant because of me, I’ll never forgive myself!”

She explained that there had been a communication issue regarding the dispensing of my contraceptive pill.  A few days after I arrived another nurse gave my pill back to me and told me to manage it myself.  I thought that was fair enough.  But that night, I saw a little Yaz in with my normal pills.  Silly me just assumed without questioning that they’d changes their minds.

Apparently it hadn’t been recorded that I was managing it myself, so depending on which nurse was doing the medication rounds, some nights I was being given the pill, and some nights I wasn’t.  And stupid Mac was just swallowing whatever she was given without checking.

After apologising profusely she launched into a lengthy lecture about safe sex that left us both ruffled and red-faced.  Do I have access to condoms?  Will BF wear one?  Will I make him wear one?  Can we abstain?  Is it hard for him?  Hard for me?

I’m going red again just thinking about it.

Her concerns turned out to be unjustified as I got my period a few days later.  Maybe that explains my mood.  I’ve had to deal with all the delightful extras that come with that, including the cramps.  My cramps are nasty at the best of times, and the only thing that really helps is heat.  Unfortunately heat packs are not allowed due to the risk of self-harm so the staff loaded me up with panadeine and I had several hot showers a day.  The temperature of the showers is set to a maximum of pleasantly warm so we can’t burn ourselves.

On the increased zeldox my brain became settled enough to make one major decision – I have decided to move back in with my parents.  My health has been so bad for so long I’ve had to get real about what I actually need and at this point I feel like living in my parents’ house is the best option.

The configuration of the house will have to be changed to give me acceptable independence.  My parents have tasked me with working it out and it has shown to be a good way to keep my mind active.

New year’s eve fell on this week and it had me really worked up.  Maybe because it was so hot, maybe because my mum and I had an argument over the way I cleaned the bathroom on leave but I was ready to go without dinner – and let my boyfriend do the same – after I called around several take out places for dinner to find they were all closed and had a ‘fuck this I’m done’ moment.

After a pep talk from mum I called one more place – which was open.  My anxieties about traffic and crowds were completely unfounded, while the restaurant was located in the middle of town it was deserted when we got there at 5.30.  And the pizza was fantastic.

I’m not really one to get worked up over FOMO, so I wasn’t keen for grandiose new year’s plans and BF is the same.  But I was a little bummed about not being able to do the midnight kiss.  See, normally the clinic doors lock at ten so we have to be back by then when we’re on leave.  The staff were willing to make an exception for new years eve but legally we had to be back by midnight.

So we went to 9pm fireworks which were fantastic…so fantastic that I had a brief seizure!  I’m epileptic, even though my seizures are very rare I am changing meds at the moment so it’s not that big a deal.  I notified the staff when I got back to the hospital and that was their impression as well.

My doctor was off for the rest of the week and I was supposed to see one of the others but I didn’t realise that he works on a different schedule to mine, who works Tuesdays and Fridays.  The fill-in works Mondays and Thursdays so I went out all New years day thinking I would be seeing him on Friday, but no deal.  Oops!

With only the one tablet being increased it’s not that big a deal; they can’t bring it up faster than once a week anyway.

I would have to wait until the next week to see him, when the ward opened again…how would I be handling that?  You’ll have to wait until the next instalment to find out.

Mac